


That Bit of Sparkle

by hufflepuffsquee



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Canon Trans Character, Developing Relationship, Drama, Fluff, Jacob doesn't know what he's doing, M/M, Ned is insecure, Some angst, canon dubious consent kiss, canon typical violence mentions, canon unhealthy relationship mentions, in parts, post sequence eight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-01
Updated: 2016-04-01
Packaged: 2018-05-30 12:18:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6423625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hufflepuffsquee/pseuds/hufflepuffsquee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It crosses his mind at least once a day (usually many more, in the night as he’s struggling to sleep) that he should not be this invested in Frye. It’s not that he has anything against him, personally, but rather against the nature of people in general. It’s other people that are the bloody problem, and he has no way of knowing what sort of person Frye is about these things."</p><p>A series of brief interludes in Ned's life as he figures out what place Jacob Frye could have in it, through insecurities, overthinking, and one massive bump in particular.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Bit of Sparkle

“I do love a bit of sparkle.” 

The way Frye is looking at Ned when he says it makes Ned wonder if the coin is all he means. Probably is, but Frye has a glint in his eye and a grin on his face that does make Ned’s brain stutter. Just for a moment. He tells himself his chest didn’t just do the same thing. 

Ned had mostly addressed his comments to Miss Frye, thinking she’d be the one to address in business situations. Nothing he’s seen of the Frye twins has lead him to believe otherwise, but the way Frye leans forward for that parting one-liner makes Ned consider which of the two he would like to address the most in future. He swears to God Frye winks when he turns away, disappearing into the crowd at the station in the time it takes Ned to blink. 

He’s likely overthinking it. Either it wasn’t a flirtation at all or, much more likely, Frye is the sort of man to flirt with anyone and everyone. Ned straightens his bowler as he makes his way out of the station, telling himself to stop acting like such a teenager. People –especially people like Frye- do not flirt with people like Ned. 

Whether they know what kind of person he is or not, they know right away something is a little off. He always sees it. When he speaks, there’s something that happens in their eyes. That’s followed by a quick up and down of him, eyeing the lines of his body, seeking out differences between his body and those of the men around him. He’s learned to (mostly) ignore it. When he can’t ignore it, he turns it into fury toward his work. Into better smuggling hauls, into more trains on his list of targets, to eradicating the Blighters from the city where he is the one meant to run its scheming, thieving underground. 

He likes to think it adds to his victories. It tells those who doubted him that he can make good on his word, and he likes to think it adds a sting to those he’s bested. 

\------ 

“That’s a pretty shiner you’ve got there, Frye.” 

Ned has found himself spending a good deal of time on the Frye’s train. It’s a beautiful locomotive, but it’s hardly the only reason he’s here. He can discuss business better this way, get to know his best connections. The Frye twins have been protecting and procuring better than Ned dared would have imagine, so it wouldn’t do to stay so distant from them. 

That being said, maybe toeing the line of flirtatious lines –and over bruises of all things, fuck’s sake Wynert, what are you doing?- is a bonus to these visits. Ned likes being able to get a little more (perhaps overly) personal with a certain Frye twin. 

“Isn’t it just?” Frye replies. “I think it matches my hat band rather well.” He adjusts the hat in question, tipping it back a bit. Heaven forbid the brim of that hat tip low enough to hide something that he so desperately wants to show off. It’s so typical of him. Almost infuriatingly masculine. From anyone else it would make Ned scoff and sneer and roll his eyes. From Frye? It makes him lean easily against the wall of the train, arms folded, grin in place. 

“For now, at least.” It’s dark at the edges, but a brilliant shade of maroon just under Frye’s eye. Identical to the shade of the hat band in question. It must hurt like an absolute bitch, but Ned often thinks Frye doesn't actually feel pain. “Give it a week or so, it’ll get a nice green.” 

“Guess I’ll have to find another hat to match it for a while, then.” Frye starts to make his way out of the car, using one finger to flick the brim of Ned’s hat up and give him a wink that should be illegal. 

“Maybe borrow one of yours?” 

“Over my dead body.” Ned fires back, not meaning a single word of it. He hopes the heat on his cheeks isn’t actually real, or at least that there’s no color to accompany it. He’s been learning to hold his own against Frye, but the man can still throw him for the occasional loop. 

It crosses his mind at least once a day (usually many more, in the night as he’s struggling to sleep) that he should not be this invested in Frye. It’s not that he has anything against him, personally, but rather against the nature of people in general. Ned’s been with the occasional lover, one night things during which, sometimes, all the clothes didn’t even make it off. It’s not that he doesn’t like how he is. He’s fine with himself. It’s other people that are the bloody problem, and he has no way of knowing what sort of person Frye is about these things. 

Ned follows Frye and watches him sprawl himself out on the sofa, swinging his legs up to stretch them out. He’s almost too long for the damn thing, it looks comical. Ned leans against the wall across from him, thumbs in his front pockets. He wants to continue this conversation but doesn’t know how, so he does what he usually does when this happens to him: turns to business. 

“You’re always on the train runs, Frye. Why’s that? Not that I’m complaining, you get rid of Blighters like no one I’ve ever seen.” 

Frye still has that lazy grin on his face. Briefly, Ned wonders if it’s ever gone. He realizes quickly that he never wants to find out what could make that expression go away, because it wouldn’t be anything good. 

“I like the train runs. Bit of danger, running round on top of a moving train.” 

“Danger like falling off.” 

 

“That’s the Blighters’ job, not mine.” 

Ned shakes his head. “Right, well. I’ve got another one for you.” 

He details what he’s looking for, the train in question, the cargo, the pay. Frye keeps his eyes on him, and Ned tells himself that it’s because Frye likes doing his job, likes hearing about exciting things. He tells himself that it couldn't possibly be because Frye actually likes who he sees. 

\------ 

“You really should keep your window unlocked.” 

“Right.” Ned’s finally stopped shaking and managed to set his revolver, which he'd grabbed upon hearing the scrabbling at his window, down on his bedside table. He picks up his glasses as he does to settle them on his nose and glare at Frye properly. “Because I should obviously be expecting an assassin to slip through my window but _not_ wanting to kill me.” 

Frye laughs as he seats himself on Ned’s desk, shifting precariously balanced and carefully sorted stacks of paper. 

“You think someone would send an assassin after you?” 

“I think they might try, yeah. Even if not for the Blighters, I’m not exactly well liked.” Ned sits up and lights the lamp next to his bed. He’d fallen asleep in his clothes after working late into the night on paperwork, and now he’s glad for it. He knows damn well that sleeping with the breast band on is, frankly, dangerous. But he’d hate having Frye in his room while he was in his nightclothes. At least, not the first time Frye is in his room. He mentally slaps himself for thinking about that scenario, about Frye being in his room at night, invited. 

Frye’s brows raise and he tilts his head in acquiescence. 

“Fair point.” 

“So what are you doing here? How did you even find it?” 

“You mentioned it once.” Frye grins. “And it’s not hard to look you up. You can trust me.” 

“Trust you to interrupt my sleep by coming in through my window? I have a door!” 

“If I’d picked the lock on the door, the police would have seen me.” 

Ned rolls his eyes so hard it almost hurts. 

“I meant you could knock like a normal human being.” 

Frye at least has the damn decency to look sheepish as he shrugs, even if he doesn’t actually mean it. 

“So what brings you here, anyway?” 

Ned’s brow furrows as he watches Frye’s face do something funny, something complicated. 

“Ah, Evie and Greenie were getting all sweet with each other.” 

That’s a lie. Ned’s been present for the scenarios and he knows Jacob loves to stay and needle his sister. In a loving way, but he never passes over a chance to tease. Ned’s response is merely a raised brow and a level look. 

Frye’s shoulders slump and, to Ned’s surprise, he gives in without needing to be prodded any more about it. 

“I might have… messed up a bit. With the bank?” 

“What bank?” 

“Oh, you know,” he waves vaguely. “ _The_ bank. Of England.” 

Ned’s jaw drops. 

“Frye, what in Hell did you do?!” 

“Look, to be fair, Freddie asked me for help!” 

Ned pretends he doesn’t notice the use of the Sergeant’s Christian name. He pretends that Frye is that way with everyone, but he doesn’t have any proof it that. He pretends it  
doesn’t mean a damn thing and dares to hope it doesn’t. 

“What, exactly, happened?” 

“I… There was a Templar mark in his vault. I did my job and, somewhere along the line, some printing plates went missing, and it wasn’t me!” His voice rises as he catches the look Ned is giving him. “It was honestly just coincidence, okay? So it just… Coincidences lined up and there were counterfeit bills and bank security was called into question. Evie fixed it, but she wasn’t happy.” 

“She gets mad at you plenty, Frye.” 

A shrug. 

“We dealt some low blows. Father got brought up. That never really goes well. Look, I came here to get away from all that. The train is too small to actually get away, alright? And I wasn’t feeling like a fight.” 

“So you bugged me.” Ned gets up, opening one of his cabinets and removing a bottle of brandy and two glasses. He hands Frye a glass that contains double the volume of his own. “I’ll shelve the confusion and tell you I’m flattered.” 

Ned has no idea why Frye’s opted to come here and not somewhere –frankly anywhere- else, but he won’t act like he’s not glad. He will act like his chest isn’t warm for it, and he’ll refuse to acknowledge that any part of his chest might feel like fluttering. 

Where Ned nurses his drink in slow sips, Frye drinks like he’s in a contest. He throws the contents of the glass back in one go, then holds it out for more. Ned, with a twitch at the corner of his lips, pours him another double measure. 

This glass gets drunk slowly, and Ned pulls the chair away from the desk Frye is perched on and taking a seat. 

“Father a touchy subject for you, then?” 

Frye’s nose wrinkles up. 

“Yeah. He had a lot of strict ideals, and it feels like we disagree on what exactly he meant by them. A lot.” 

Ned inclines his glass toward him and nods. 

“Same here. Well, not in the same way, but he’s not a fun subject.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” Ned takes another sip. “He saw me as a very different person. So did my mom.” 

“I’m picturing they saw you as American, for one.” Frye’s grin is back on his face, and Ned’s glad to see it again. 

“For one. Less of a thief for another. Or, I imagine they would, if they knew.” 

“That how you got over here, then? Being a thief?” 

“Jewels.” Ned leans back and crosses on leg over the other, and easy smile stealing over his features. “I stole jewels until I could get myself out of their city. Did one better and left the whole damn country behind. So far as I know, they haven’t caught on I’m across the pond. They might think I’m dead, for all I know.” 

Technically, he is. The person his parents raised is dead, she hasn’t been present since the last time he was forced into a dress and to smile at some insipid boy trying to win his way into their favor for betrothal. Even then, the child his parents thought they had never really existed. Ned hadn’t always known what he was, but he’d known from the time he could understand what a girl was that he wasn’t one. 

“I’m trying to picture this. A younger Wynert, sneaking around and stealing jewels. Bet you didn’t use the front door when you did that.” Frye winks at him and Ned finds that extremely unfair of him to do. 

“If you’re good enough, you can walk in the front door in broad daylight and walk out with enough to feed you for the next week.” 

That earns him a laugh, a bit louder that it should have been, but Frye’s halfway through his second double, so Ned forgives him that. He finishes his own drink and pours another, pausing and deciding on a double for himself. Frye notices and waggles his eyebrows. 

They sit and drink and talk about nothing important, each finishing their third before they put the bottle away. While the brandy is returned to its place, Frye hops off the desk, and Ned takes advantage of his absence to ensure his papers are alright. 

“Sofa’s downstairs, blanket’s in the closet just across the hall.” Ned says, reorganizing his documents, his back to Frye. When he turns around, Frye is alarmingly close. Even as Ned stands there, Frye moves closer, leaning on the desk and practically over Ned, arms on either side of him. 

“Not in bed, Neddie?” The scarred brow arches high. It seems like something that should be slurred, but Frye's voice is perfectly clear. Ned wonders if that's just the sort of drunk Frye is, or if his voice is so clear because he means this. 

“It’s Wynert to you.” Then, after a pause. “Or Ned. And no, not tonight. It’s the sofa for your arse.” 

He isn’t sure what prompts him to say what he does. 'Not _tonight_.' Implying that maybe next time, maybe later. Implying that there would be another night. He means it, he knows that, but he doesn’t know if he’d have dared say it without the brandy warming his stomach and loosening his tongue. 

“Next time, then?” Frye stands up, and Ned can’t help but notice that it isn’t all bravado. There’s a hopeful note and it makes Ned’s chest hurt. 

“We’ll see. Sofa.” 

\------ 

“You look like shit.” 

Ned’s voice is low as he says it, leaning away from his desk and straightening his glasses. Usually when he says it, it’s in response to Jacob being battered and bruised, and it comes with a smile. Now, he's serious, and he's worried. 

Frye's feet hit the floor below the window sill in near-silence. Ned's gotten used to Frye slipping in through his window, and he's learned to have the decency to do it while Ned is awake. His lips twitch in the barest ghost of a smile that doesn't come close to reaching his eyes. And it's his eyes that are, frankly, scaring the Hell out of Ned right now.  
He looks... scared. Like he's seen a ghost, in a way, but like it's a ghost he can't understand. He's still in full assassin gear, even the gauntlet is still on. And still bloody, though Ned barely catches a glimpse as Frye shifts nervously. 

"Something go bad?" Ned asks, and now he's starting to search Jacob, looking him up and down with his heart in his throat. There doesn't seem to be any blood on him that's actually coming from him, but he can't be certain. There's too many layers. 

"I'm... Wynert, I'm not hurt." 

Frye is quiet, and the fear amps in Ned's chest. Frye is almost never quiet. 

"That's not convincing." 

Frye doesn't reply, just fumbling with the buckles of his gauntlet. Ned notices now that there's the smell of smoke, what looks like blood spearing the corner of Frye's lip. 

"Let me help." Ned rises, taking Frye's wrist and working the buckles, feeling Frye relax. 

"Thanks." 

Ned places the gauntlet on his desk, refusing to look at the blood and wonder. It doesn't bother him, exactly, he's just concerned. Wound up. 

Frye shrugs out of his cloak, letting it simply fall to the floor. He then sits on Ned's bed. Normally, there would be a quip from Ned about making his bedclothes smell of smoke. Instead, Ned watches Frye fumble with the laces of his boots for only a moment before kneeling and undoing the laces himself. 

When he rises, Frye is looking at him in a way Ned can't understand. It makes his throat tighten, makes him want to reach out to Frye. He realizes there's nothing keeping him from doing so, except his own fears, and those don't matter right now. Briefly, he puts a hand to Frye's cheek, using his thumb to try to wipe away the blood. It doesn't work, the blood's dry, and Ned backs away to find his chair and sit in front of Jacob. 

"What happened?" 

"Roth." 

Ned's brows raise. He knows the name. It's synonymous with 'sadistic fuck'. 

"Can't have been good." 

Frye shakes his head and huffs out a laugh that has no humor in it. 

"He... Wanted to partner with me. I did. He went too far." Frye falls quiet again, eyes on the floor. 

Fuck. Ned's heart is in his throat. He doesn't want to press, this is obviously upsetting for Frye in huge ways. But if he's going to help, he needs to know. 

"Frye..." He pauses and frowns before starting again. "Jacob. What did he do?" 

Frye's head lifts abruptly at the use of his name, eyes a bit wide, the expression in them questioning and painfully open. 

"He didn't mind killing kids, so I called it quits on the partnership. So he... Put on a show. Invited me." He makes a face that Ned doesn't understand, but Ned doesn't ask about it. "Full house and he... Torched the theatre." 

Ned's eyes widen, but he stays quiet as Frye continues. 

"I had to find him. Get rid of him. It was... Hard." He shrugs. "I killed him, but he was still so... _himself_.” 

Ned raises an eyebrow. 

“I’m… not sure what that means.” 

He doesn’t get a reply, Frye just stands up and starts to pace. Ned lets him take a few circuits around the room before standing in front of him, looking up at him with as much sternness as he can put into his expression through the worry. 

“Jacob…” 

Frye stops, looking at Ned with an expression that seems like a desperate confusion. Ned wants to help him understand, but he doesn’t even know what’s confusing to the poor man. 

In a smooth motion, one of Frye’s hands is on Ned’s cheek and he’s bent down, kissing him full on the mouth. His stubble is rough, but it’s not undesirable. Ned likes it and, for once, isn’t wondering if he should. He’s just enjoying it. 

Ned presses back, rising on his tip toes to do so, hands at Frye’s lapels. It’s just lips, Ned debating taking the kiss deeper. He holds back, feeling the tension still in Frye’s body. He comes back to himself, remembering there’s some problem, that something is wrong, and he pulls back. 

Frye’s looking at him again and his expression is… wonder, almost. He’s looking at Ned like his never seen him, a slight crease in his brow and a light in his eyes. He tips his head down again, but Ned releases his lapels and steps back. 

“What… was that about?” Ned’s panting a little, staring at Frye. “What’s that… Got to do with this?” 

There’s a flash of… something in Frye’s eyes. Guilt? God, Ned hopes not. 

“What’s this got to do with Roth?” 

There’s that flash again, and it’s definitely guilt. Fear. 

“He… I… He kissed me.” Frye shrugs lamely, and Ned’s stomach drops, realization setting in. 

“So… What?” He laughs, a cold seeping through his body, and it comes out derisive and near-hysterical. “I’m the stand-in? For a fucking psychopath?” 

“No!” Frye’s hands are up in clear surrender. “No, I just… I thought… It’s complicated.” 

“I’m not here for you to fuck around with while you figure out your ‘complicated’!” 

Ned’s absolutely seething, staring Frye down. He should have shoved him away the second that damn kiss started. 

"That's not... Christ, Ned, no, that's not why I'm _here_." Frye is spluttering, eyes wide and looking hurt. 

Ned can't risk this. Whatever Frye has going on, whatever he's sorting, Ned can't be the guinea pig. He's clawed his way here from the absolute bottom, and he isn't going to let this be his life. He has control, damn it. 

"It's Wynert to you." He says, standing straight and squaring his shoulders before jerking his head to the window. "Out." 

"I... What?" 

"Get the fuck out of my flat, Frye!" He's shouting, hands curled into fists at his sides. 

For a moment, he thinks Frye is going to argue. He doesn't want him to, because he's certain the man could convince Ned to let him stay. He can't do that to himself. But in the end, Frye simply slumps and nods before slipping back out of the window. 

As Ned shuts and locks the window behind him –for the first time in months- he can't help but wonder what he might have just done. What he may well have thrown away. He keeps thinking about it as he strips and settles into bed, and in the long hours it takes him to fall asleep. 

\------ 

"Can we talk? Please." 

Ned stands in the doorway, hand gripping the knob as he looks at Frye, standing there holding out a box wrapped in brown paper, clearly a peace offering. It's been a month since he's seen Frye. Had his jobs not kept being done, he'd have worried more. As it was, even knowing that Frye was alive and at least somewhat physically sound, he'd worried every day. 

Without saying a word, Ned takes the box and steps aside so Frye can come in. He does, looking oddly small. He's hunched over a bit, the hat pulled low, and he gives Ned the briefest smile as he does. 

Ned, box in hand, takes a seat on the sofa of his small sitting room. Placing the box beside him he spreads his arms, palms up, in a 'Go on then' gesture. 

Frye doesn't sit, merely takes his hat off and worries the brim of it with his fingers. 

"I'm... About a while back... I'm sorry. That was... Whatever my reasons, it was stupid. And really selfish. And incredibly unfair to you." He sets into a pace, only a few steps back and forth rather than the entirety of the room. "I didn't even... I think I'd made some assumptions about you, about what you did or didn't want and... Hell, even if I didn't, the timing was absolutely awful. I shouldn't have, or I should have talked instead of just... I'm sorry." 

When Frye settles down again, Ned's still sitting with his arms stretched out over the sofa back. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, looking at Frye over his glasses. 

"And in the box?" 

"A gift. Part of the apology." 

Ned nods, lips together, eyes still on Frye. 

"So. You gonna tell me what exactly you wanted from me?" 

Frye squirms, looking like a child about to be scolded or being forced to tell the truth. 

"I'm... Christ, don't hate me. But it's obvious, I think, that I'm... I like blokes." He shrugs, and Ned can tell it's the first time he's said it. Well, sober, anyway. Evie may have heard this in a drunken rant, Ned knows what that's like. But this is the first time Jacob's _told_ someone like this. "It was... I'd been thinking about it. And Roth, he... It seemed he was the same way. And might've liked me. I don't... know." 

He stops and his brow is furrowed in a way that tells Ned this is a subject they'll need to come back to. What he knows of Roth tells him that anyone who landed his attention wasn't in for a good time, no matter what sort it was. He hopes he's wrong, but Frye's face tells him otherwise. 

"But he... He was a cruel bastard. I wanted nothing else to do with him, and he lured me to his damned theater and I had... I had to kill him. But he... When I did, he _kissed_ me. And I... I didn't..." He rubs his forehead. "I didn't want him to. I didn't want it to be _him_. It only bothered me who it _was_ , not that he was a man! So I wanted... I needed... To be sure I didn't mind men, and I already had thought about you a lot, so I... It... Seemed a way I could figure it out. I wasn't thinking straight, but it doesn't matter that I wasn't. It wasn't fair to you." 

"So, to get this right. You wanted to be sure you liked men. And you wanted to be sure you liked me?" Ned arches a brow. "Which one took priority, Frye?" 

"The... Former?" Frye's brow is still all furrowed up. "I don't know. I really don't, I didn't then and I don't know." 

Ned hums and sits back, thinking carefully. Frye, for his part, stays still, twisting his hat around in his hands. 

“What about now?” 

“I’m more figured out.” Frye offers him a small smile, a hopeful one that matches the look in his eyes with such an intensity it makes Ned’s chest ache. “I know I like men. I know I like you. I… Ned, I want… I’d like to… Try it. Try us.” 

He sounds absolutely terrified, and it makes Ned smile gently. 

“I never really thought I was any stand-in for Roth.” He murmurs, finally. “Not really. Sit down, Fr- Jacob. You look like you’re going to fall over.” Ned shifts over on the sofa, grabbing the box as he does. 

Grinning, Jacob practically bounds to the sofa and sits beside Ned, throwing an arm over the back of the sofa behind Ned. Not quite around him, but the implication is there. Ned leans back, not quite against him, but hardly far from him either. 

“Never thought I’d see you without all that cocksure you’ve usually got.” Ned says, pulling at the twine on the package in his lap. 

“Well, there was a lot on the line. More than usual.” 

“It’s usually your life on the line.” He elbows Jacob’s ribs. 

“Like I said, more than usual.” 

Ned feels the color rise at the back of his neck as he smiles, undoing the paper on the box. Jacob’s smooth tongue may well be the end of him. He can live with that. 

As he opens the box, his eyes light up and he lifts out the small model engine. It’s the same make, model, and number as the Frye’s locomotive, one he’s never kept his mouth shut about loving. 

“Shit, Jacob…” He breathes, turning the tiny replica over and over in his hands and examining every centimeter. “Where did you… This must have cost a fortune.”  
Jacob shrugs, and Ned can feel how sheepish it is. Genuinely sheepish. Does Ned really have this effect on him? He never figured he’d have it on anyone, much less Jacob Frye. He likes it. 

“It’s… I found a place to get it made. It wasn’t terribly much.” 

“You forget, I’m supplying part of your income. I notice how much I pay out.” 

“I tried to get the money for it from other places. You just pay the best.” 

Ned leans forward, gently setting both box and model on the table in front of them before leaning back again, squarely against Jacob’s chest. 

“You know I’d never have opened that if I wasn’t going to accept that apology, right?” 

The chest he’s leaning on vibrates as Jacob laughs. 

“God, I’d hoped you’d open it… Even if you hated me anyway I’d have at least have liked you to have that…” 

Ned shifts so that he’s looking at Jacob, tipping his head a bit to the side. Jacob is still nervous, he looks like he’s a teenager, open and vulnerable. Idiot. 

“Come here.” 

Thank God Jacob wears that damn tie of his. It gives Ned something to pull on to direct Jacob’s mouth to his own. Whatever plans he had for today are rescheduled, he decides, opting instead to spend the afternoon kissing Jacob Frye on the sofa of his sitting room.


End file.
